The Strings Attached
by aithomenos
Summary: Life goes on, despite everything; and Tifa and Cloud try to reconcile a relationship that’s decades old. Fin.
1. Chapter 1

**The Strings Attached**

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VII  
**Characters:** Tifa, Cloud  
**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer: **Property of Squaresoft. No money is being made off this.

**Summary: **Life goes on, despite everything; and Tifa and Cloud try to reconcile a relationship that's decades old--recognizing that theirs is a dark, obsessive kind of love.

**Chapter 1**

In looking at the case of Cloud Strife and Tifa Lockhart (among the saviors of the world), one of two things immediately becomes clear: one, that they were two incredibly, physically strong people; and two, that they had deep-seated issues.

Nothing had changed that. Nothing--in the years after the advent of Meteor, and even beyond Geostigma, or the completion of the Edge…

They were just two incredibly delicate people trying to live life in the best way they could; the best way they knew how.

In the intervening years, Tifa's Seventh Heaven had become a refugee of sorts: rebuilt after Midgar's destruction and now thriving—there was always a steady stream of customer and enough revenue from Strife's Delivery Service and her small bar that Cloud and Tifa never had to worry about finances. And they stayed together, because…well…because it just seemed right…

Like it was the right thing to do.

And because, even though they never said it outright, they—in some strange (and some observers might say, twisted) way—needed each other.

_To stave off the madness…_

It was mid-afternoon---too early for bar patrons to begin drinking and too late for any to remain drinking from the night before—when a friend dropped by (they usually do). Tifa was wiping away the tables when the door swung open.

"Welcome to Tifa's Seventh—Barrett!"

"Hey, hey!" His voice boomed out. Still as loud as ever—all that mining-related noises had permanently impaired his hearing and raised the volume of his voice for perpetuity.

Tifa dropped the towel she was cleaning with and ran up to hug her friend, exclaiming, "It's been too long. What have you been—oh, never mind that. Here, sit down."

She ushered him over to take a seat by the bar and hurried behind it--always the gracious hostess. She smiled. "You must be tired. I hear," She said, grabbing a glass and pouring in whiskey (his favorite), "that Corel is having a vote to put you in office. So, should I call you Mr. Mayor from now on?"

She placed the glass in front of him and he gave a grimace, "Mister Mayor? Hah! Don't get me wrong, I love that place with all my heart…do anything to rebuild it. But I don't want the title."

"Why not?"

Barrett took a sip of the whiskey, "I just--hey," he stops, smacking his lips before deciding, "That's good stuff."

"Saved it for you."

"Thanks. You're a real sweetheart, you know that?"

Barrett frowned, "Speaking of sweethearts, how's Cloud been treating you?"

_You mean, you didn't ask him yourself?_

"Oh, you know, we're good." Which meant okay, could be better, but she's not complaining (not that she ever would).

And Tifa's visibly uncomfortable with the subject, changing the topic by saying, "Never mind that, what about mayor? I think you'd make a good leader, Barrett. You did it for the Avalanche. Sure, you're a little hotheaded, but a little passion is good."

Barrett mulled over his drink, thinking, '_a little passion,' you'd ever think of telling Cloud that, Tifa?_

It would've been too hard to bring up…

So Barrett left it at that and answered, "Meh, Corel's just, you know…they want one of the 'heroes' to lead them. But I tell em' I ain't no hero. I ain't nuthin' special."

"Barrett…"

"They should stop tryin' to look towards someone else for heroes and start lookin' at themselves."

_That's the entire problem,_ he seemed to say. People grow complacent after the storm is over. The old ways emerge in the guise of the new.

"Besides," Barrett continued, "Me being Mayor and all, you'd be seeing even less of me. And Marlene, well, she'd never forgive me if I took her away from here on account of me not being able to show up once in a while."

"I supposed…"

Tifa's quiet. Pensive. She's thinking about selfish she's been. _So,_ _I concern myself with maintaining my little bar, my life, my small piece of happiness…while everyone's still out there is trying to save the world in their own way._

"I wouldn't know, Barrett. I'm sure Marlene doesn't blame you for being away all the time. You're not retired like me," she laughed—but it's a sad, self-deprecating laugh, the type that gets Barrett all pained inside seeing her like this.

"You're not retired, Tifa. Hell, you gots just as important a job as any of us," he told her, indicating the rows of picture framing the wall behind her.

She turned to see the polaroids reflection of her 'family.' All the orphans she and Cloud had taken in together. A record of their life.

"Playing mom to all the kids, heh. That ain't an easy job," Barrett commented, adding, "Lord knows I can't do it."

And Tifa has to smile—just a little.

It always came back to the kids. Such a ragtag group of people pieced together by coincidence, all to make a strangely coherent 'family.' They had considered her Seventh Heaven their home…

It was Tifa's suggestion. And she had managed to convince herself that it was a purely altruistic act, one borne out of compassion. But the deeper she dug (if she was willing to look that far), she had to have known that there was some other aspect (selfishness) in it; that she had somehow thought that this was a way to keep Cloud around. That, with the buffer between them—those lost and stray children--they'd maintain a better sense of sanity. _Play house, Tifa. Make believe._

And Cloud had accepted. What had started out with one child (not counting Marlene), Denzel, had expanded into several: Sarah, Michael, Art, Peter, and Dane. Cloud just started taken in more and more; he never said why, but she knew.

It was always about redemption with Cloud.

As if he could never wash away the sins completely---never become clean enough. That he was always blaming himself somehow for the way the world had been after Sephiroth---as if he, Cloud, had as good as orphaned these kids himself.

"Besides," Barrett said, interrupting Tifa's errant (dark) thoughts, "ain't nothing wrong if you was retired. We'd all been heroes long enough. We deserve it…" Barrett relaxed on his stool; he had the figure of a world weary traveler. Tired and nostalgic.

"Daddy!"

Barrett immediately snapped his head towards the sound of her voice—like a burst of sunshine through the clouds. "Marlene!"

The little girl had heard a commotion, heard _that_ familiar voice and didn't even bother changing out of her pajamas when she rushed downstairs and flung herself into her father's arms.

And he gladly scooped her up, sitting her on his lap and practically overflowing with happiness at this being with her.

"Daddy, don't cry. It's embarrassing!"

Tifa smiled. Barrett was just a big stuff animal underneath it all.

She handed Marlene a napkin and the little girl took it, wiping away at the big man's tears.

"Dad, you have to stop doing that every time you come back to see me."

"I'm sorry," Barrett sniffled, "Daddy's just so happy to see you."

Marlene rolled her eyes at the sentimental huff, and then kissed his cheeks, soothingly. "It's ok. Hey, Dad," she said, remembering, "how long are you staying this time? A week, yes? Please, please. Say you'll stay a week."

Barrett nodded. _Whatever he can do for his little girl…_

"Yah!" She clasped her arms around his thick neck and kissed him again on the cheeks, before jumping off and saying, "I'm going to get dressed. I'll be right back."

"Okay."

And Marlene was off, rushing up the stairs like she couldn't finish up fast enough.

Tifa laughed, "Barrett, you'd better take those kisses while you still can. Soon she'll be too old and think that kissing you is gross."

"What?!"

"You've seen Yuffie with her dad," she said by way of illustration.

Barrett huffed, "Marlene ain't nuthin' like Yuffie. My girl's an angel. Not like that she-devil."

Tifa shook her head, laughing, "Okay, Barrett. I'll go get your room ready."

* * *

Barrett walked with Tifa upstairs. The place was cramped, but Barrett had the sense that its occupants didn't really mind.

He passed by the boys room--the largest room in the house (it had to be, considering the ratio of boys to girls)—and frowned, suddenly peeved by something. "Tifa," he growled, "you sure it's all right to keep these guy's room next to the girls like this?"

"Barrett," she chuckled, "they're children."

"Little horndogs, that's what they are. Sure they're all innocent and wide-eyed now. But come that age, they'll be trying to hump anything they can get."

"Barrett!"

"What? It's true. All little boys at that age are the same---I know, I've been there. I'm just looking out for Marlene, all right. I think you should too."

At that moment, Denzel ran out with another boy, bumping pass Tifa, "Oh, hey. Sorry, Tifa." Then he was off, without another notice—just going out to play.

Barrett shook his head, stern. "And inconsiderate."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Strings Attached**

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VII  
**Characters:** Tifa, Cloud  
**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer: **Property of Squaresoft. No money is being made off this.

**Chapter 2**

Cloud was standing besides Reeves, overseeing the construction of Neo-Midgar. It had just been approved by the WRO and backed by the financing of the newly emergent ShinRa Inc.

"We have to be careful," Reeves tells Cloud. "We don't want to make the same mistake we made with the first Midgar."

They go pass a few men working in hardhats—on top of what was going to be a thirty story building; the frames and steel beams, some wood here and there and dust and debris—all the signs that say, _under construction_.

But Cloud feels comfortable here.

He had gone to this place, leaving the Edge and Tifa, about four days ago, when Marlene had asked him to "bring her daddy home." It had been three months since Barrett had last seen his daughter—he had been so busy helping out here in Neo-Midgar (insistent that ShinRa couldn't be trusted to build this city on its own).

Reeves was running numbers and information by Cloud—the statistics of what had made Neo-Midgar an acceptable, feasible and important part of the world's redevelopment. And Cloud listened, then turned to look below (they're standing at the very top), over the spread of this infant city; Cloud stood then, suddenly very still, and closed his eyes, feeling as the breeze from up here wash through him…

"I'll help."

"Really?!" Reeves turned to him, happy---receiving news he wasn't expecting. "Are you sure?"

He nodded.

"Tifa…Tifa will be all right with it then? The project might take several weeks," Reeves had to check, concerned for his other friend.

Cloud considers this. _She'll be fine, _he thinks.

_She's always fine._

"Great!" Reeves clapped his hand on Cloud's back, assured, "We need people we can trust on the WRO, and there's not a man alive that I'd trust more than I trust you."

* * *

"I see…"

Tifa cradled the phone to her ear, taking in what was being said. "No," she tells him, "I understand." _She does. _"Of course. Don't worry about it. Bye."

Click…

Then dialtone…

Tifa sighed before placing the receiver back onto its cradle.

She started shuffling through the papers on the desk where the phone sat. Organizing the things that he had left out (Cloud was always the messier of the two). Then she marked off the calendar, took out his agenda book from the drawer and sat down; dialing.

Click. "Hello."

"Yes, I'm calling in regards to a delivery that you had placed on the 27th. I'm sorry but Strife Delivery Service won't be able to make it," she nods, acknowledging the client's concern, "Yes, I know. I'm really sorry about that, too."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Strings Attached**

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VII  
**Characters:** Tifa, Cloud  
**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer: **Property of Squaresoft. No money is being made off this.

**Chapter 3**

In the aftermath of Meteor, the citizens of the world had gathered to thank the heroes who had saved them from (_in Yuffie's words) _blinking out of existence. And in that moment, they could've had anything (absolutely anything) the world had to offer. Be it liquor, women, men, yachts, houses, and oodles and oddles of gils—what have you…

They could've lived like kings; the people were _that _grateful. And some among the heroes were tempted to take up that offer---Yuffie declining only after being whacked in the head by Cid.

But in the end, the heroes settled on two simple requests. One, that the church in former Midgar (now the Edge) be preserved for perpetuity. And two, that the children orphaned by the terrible conflict receive aid and support in any form possible.

The world, out of gratitude, did both those things.

Aerith's church still stands as the center-point (heart) of the Edge, everything else being built around it. Behind the church, in following the second request, the people had made room—a field, really—for a playground. It was small, but in an urban environment like the Edge, it was everything you could hope for: room to run and play football in at the end of the day.

And Tifa's kids usually did just that—going out from dawn till dusk to play behind the church. _Aerith did always like children…_

Tifa and--more rarely--Cloud had on occasioned joined them.

She did that now, joining in on an exuberant game of kickball with a few of the youths. And Tifa was, for the moment, able to forget the days marked on the calendar, the hours ticked off, and all the waiting that came with Cloud's absences.

"Hey! Not fair!" One of the kids shouted, pointing at Marlene. "You got Tifa on your side! She's too good."

"So what?" Marlene told them to, "Deal with it." She stuck out her tongue.

"Marlene," said Tifa, admonishing, "That's not nice." Still, she was laughing…

_There's so much love here, _Tifa thinks, taking a moment to look at the grass that had grown on this field and she looked towards the back of the church's structure.

And she suddenly feels like this is enough…

Just to be here.

* * *

"Tifa!" The kids' call brings her attention back to the game.

Someone tells her, "Tifa, you guys get a handicap. Ten points at least."

"Fine, we accept your challenge!" She shouts back, getting into the game, when they hear--

"Did someone say CHALLENGE?!"

_Oh no…that voice…_

Most of the kids flinch instinctively at the sound of that voice; even Tifa does, she can't help it.

From out of nowhere, Yuffie emerges running onto the field, triumphant in her return to the city. _Why is she always 'triumphant', Tifa doesn't know…Yuffie's just is…_

"Oh, Yuffie," she waves, a forced smile on her face, "so good of you to join us."

Not that Tifa didn't love Yuffie.

No, she adored the ninja girl. It's just…with Yuffie, _trouble_ always seemed to have a habit of following her.

Yuffie squeezes herself into the middle of one of the huddles, no longer content to stay on the sidelines, "Ahoy guys, whose team am I on?"

The game had turned out—by sheer luck—a battle between the sexes; but the boys were debating this recent development…

The girl's side already had one adult (and Tifa, although feminine, had the strength of a man); the boys decided that they could use all the help they could get. Even if it could be somewhat ill-advised. A compromise had to be struck.

Denzel tells her, "Yuffie, you're on our side."

"All right!" She points her finger at Tifa, "You are so going down!"

And Tifa can't help but get into Yuffie's giddy challenges—she had a way of being contagious. "Don't dish it out unless you can handle it."

"Weak!" Yuffie tosses back, before running to join her teammates.

* * *

The boys had judge correctly: they really did need Yuffie. Whatever she lacked in strength she made up for in dexterity and sheer speed.

"Bam! You're out," Yuffie exclaimed, after chucking the ball at one of the girls—a little too hard.

The little girl started crying.

"Yuffie!" Tifa cried out, "They're just little kids! Be careful."

And Yuffie can tell that she's in the wrong; she followed after the girl, saying "Oh no, don't cry. I'm sorry."

But the little girl had simply reeled around and kicked Yuffie on her right leg, causing the ninja-girl to hop up and down on one foot in pain.

Tifa shook her head and just smiled.

* * *

The rest of the game went without another incident, surprisingly enough. And the scored had ended up tied by the time the final round came up. The boys cheered, already celebrating for catching up so quickly to the girls (and all they had to endure was Yuffie's occasional noogies).

It was Yuffie's turn to kick the ball. She had managed to restrain herself up until this point—following Tifa's advice to 'take it easy.' But now, it was the final round. And they were TIED!

All of the game's energy had compounded into this one moment and Yuffie—hyperactive as she was—wasn't able to hold it in anymore.

As the ball was rolled towards her, Yuffie gave a guttural yell, lunged forward and connected all the pent-up excitement that was building in her since the start of the game with one, single, dazzling and devastating kick.

DDDSSHHHH!!!

The rubber ball whooshed by, making that sound as it soared mile high and going long in the air after an incredible impact with Yuffie's foot.

"Whoooaaaa…" The kids exclaimed in awe as they watch the ball go sailing above their heads, above the church itself, and gone, blinking out of existence over the horizon.

It was only after the initial 'whoa' that they realized their ball was gone.

"YUFFIE!"

They cried out, fixing their eyes on her. Glaring.

She gave them a guilty smile, "Oops, hehe. Did I do that?"

"Get her!"

"Oh no!"

If you're going to give Yuffie credit for anything, it's this: knowing when it's time to get the hell out of someplace. This usually follows anytime someone yells, "GET HER!" and it's directed at you.

She followed that cardinal rule now; spinning around and going off! Faster than you could say 'dust-crops', she was already over the hill, charging as fast as she could away from the mob of five to ten year olds chasing after her.

Tifa watched, flabbergasted.

She looked at her watch; it was already getting late; she yelled after the kids, "You guys! Dinner's in an hour!"

But it's no use…

Tifa gives up---watching as the last little girl ran up over the hill after Yuffie.

She can only hope they got hungry in time to remember dinner.

* * *

The kids were just finishing up their dishes—they had returned half an hour later than their regularly scheduled dinner time (_sans Yuffie_).

Sarah, the scrappy five year old that had kick Yuffie earlier today—the one with perennial cowlick hair, was the last one at the table. She grabbed her ice cream bowl and presented it to Tifa, imploring, "More."

Tifa shook her head and took the bowl from her saying, "No, honey. I'm sorry. Too much ice cream before bed isn't good for you."

The little girl pouted.

"Go on now," Tifa said, shooing her off her chair, "Go play with Marlene."

"Fine…" Sarah got off and made her way upstairs, where the rest of the kids were---probably reading books, playing video games, watching TV.

Tifa was alone now. She started to clean up the table.

The nights when the bar was closed was strangely lonely, even if she did have the option of going upstairs to join the children. There was always something missing…

Dunk, dunk!

She heard a light tapping on the window. Tifa turned to look, and she could see Yuffie, kneeling in the twilight outside--she was making a pleading look like, _please, let me in._

Tifa sighed and head over, un-clicking the lock and opening the window for the other girl.

Yuffie peeked her head in and asked, "Are they gone?"

'They' referring of course to the kids.

"Yeah, they're getting ready for bed."

"Oh good," Now it was Yuffie's turn to sigh—this time in relief before she let herself in by the window.

"Ah, it's good to be back," Yuffie said, stretching luxuriantly. She stepped around, studying Tifa's Seventh Heaven---her home away from home; all the familiarity of it making Yuffie smile.

"Did you get it?" Tifa asked.

"Sure did."

Yuffie reached into her pack and pulled out a red rubber kickball, tossing it to Tifa, who inspected it and noted: "This isn't the same ball, is it?"

"Are you kidding? The other ball's probably orbiting in space right now," she said, strangely proud of that. "No, I bought this one new."

"Yuffie…"

"What? They got their kickball, don't they? Who's to complain?"

Yuffie sat on the counter, where Tifa's little breakfast nook was. She took a whiff of the air—the aroma of dinner causing her stomach to growl. "Say, what's for…"

Tifa laughed, anticipating her request already, "I'll get you some."

"Gee thanks, Tif. You're the greatest."

Tifa smiled and went on preparing Yuffie's dish (she had made extra). Yuffie, meanwhile, kicked her feet and took a glance around the place. Nodding her head in approval: _good, good, good…wait._

A frown suddenly appears on her face and she asks, "Hey, where's Cloud?"

Yuffie catches it (though she wished she didn't)---how when she asked that question Tifa's posture suddenly went stiff as if she was struck by something. "Oh…"

Tifa turned to Yuffie slightly, her back still to the other girl, "Cloud's gone."

"Gone? Gone where?"

"He went to help the WRO. You know, Reeves."

Yuffie huffed. _That guy_…that guy was getting on her nerves. "How long is gone?"

"A couple weeks," Tifa answered, matter-of-fact. She placed the tray of food before Yuffie, trying to avoid looking straight into the other's girls inquiring and judgmental gaze. "I don't when he'll be back."

"He didn't tell you?!"

As if something so obvious didn't occur to Cloud. _Gee,_ Yuffie reflects, _and they say I'm clueless._

"Well…" Tifa began, and Yuffie can see Tifa's struggle to excuse yet another one of Cloud's prolonged absence.

_And here we go…_

"You know how it is, Yuffie," Tifa said. "These projects, they can go on for a long time. No one knows for sure when it'll be completed. Not even the managers."

"So?" Yuffie raised her eyebrow. _So what?_, she seemed to say.

When Tifa didn't immediately respond, Yuffie added a one-two punch, "So they can just kidnap him indefinitely, is what you're saying?"

"No…"

_That's it!_

"Oh that spiky-headed jerk!" Yuffie exploded, getting mad for her friend; because as much as Yuffie liked Cloud, she liked Tifa a little more---if only because they were both girls and (in a weird way that Yuffie doesn't quite understand) she can sympathize. "He's just avoiding responsibility again! You want me to find him and beat him up for you?"

That wasn't an idle threat either--Yuffie had a record of following through. Tifa, of course, knew this.

So Tifa raised her hand and said, "No, no. Please, Yuffie, don't. It's fine, really."

"Besides," Tifa added, "he's not the only one avoiding responsibilities. It's funny you, of all people, would mention that…"

Implying…

Yuffie whistled innocently, looking towards the ceiling.

"Yuffie…"

"What?"

* * *

They were by the fireplace of the bar: Tifa nursing a glass of wine and Yuffie finishing off that half-a-gallon of orange juice she had swiped from the refrigerator—drinking directly from the bottle.

_She's too at home, here, _Tifa thinks. _She'll never leave…_

As she's watching Yuffie curl her toes in front of the fireplace, chugging back another gulp. She's as relaxed as a cat…

_Speaking of cats…_

Actually, all they needed now was Nanaki to complete this picture. He would look perfect, resting right behind Yuffie, and she could use him as a backrest—like she did when they were traveling the world together.

Tifa is sitting with her knees pulled up to her chin, and she's looking at Yuffie, content-like because it was nice…

To have a friend here. Even if only for a little while.

"So that's what happened," Yuffie said, finishing up her story on why, yet again, she was in self-exile from her homeland.

"Oh…so that's why," Tifa laughed, rolling her eyes.

"To think huh? The nerve of that old man! Pops thinks he can tie me down by getting me married to some lord? Well, forget it!" That was emphatic.

Yuffie's still reflecting on that horrific event when her father sat her down in front of a matchmaker and flipped open a photo album—all very handsome young men from well-respected families. Oh, but Yuffie couldn't care less.

And the next morning, she had packed all her things in a knapsack (enough for at least a year getaway), and left Wutai on the first boat out; her father had been furious.

"Okay," Yuffie said, tossing aside the empty bottle of orange juice, "I'm about to get deep on you. Word of warning."

Tifa giggled, "Deep, huh?"

"Yeah. I know, right?" Yuffie couldn't believe it herself. She continued, "Anyways, I was just thinking, now that Wutai's all rebuilt and stuff—we have a good size military and actual political weight and stuff—I mean, we're an actual state, not just a tourist attraction."

"Yeah…?"

"I don't feel like sticking around so much any more. Like there's nothing left for me to do except get married and become this princess person."

"You're adverse to the idea of 'home,' Yuffie," she tells the other girl, gently, before frowning and asking, "Wait, you don't want to be a princess?"

"Oh, hell no!" She stuck out her tongue. "You know how tied you are to tradition being a princess? No freedom at all. Gawd, I can't breathe just thinking about it."

_I forget she's royalty._

Tifa wrinkled her nose, playful. "That's just awful." She teased.

Yuffie turned her gaze towards the fire and watch as the wood and ember flecks burned away; her face cast in a soft, pensive glow. Tifa noted how even the effervescent Yuffie had appeared older; that, in fact, she was older. And even Tifa sometimes forgets how long it's been…

She, Yuffie, was quieter (in comparison) and more thoughtful (in comparison to before). Though she would've never admitted it, Yuffie had mellowed out significantly—enough for her close friends to notice. Still…

"I want to see everything," Yuffie confessed. "I don't want to stay in one place, you know."

"I know."

* * *

Staying in one place made Yuffie antsy, and she had earned the reputation of being fleet-footed. She was all over the place nowadays. _Doing what exactly?_

Oh, besides the regular traveling, there was the occasional Robin Hood feat, swinging from branches---you know, the whole robbing from the rich and giving to 'those less fortunate'. The girl still had complaints written to law officials about her.

Then there was Nanaki...

Both were unexpectedly close in age if you counted by Nanaki's lifespan. He was still a young pup by his species' standard, and he had found in Yuffie a strange sort of kindred spirit…

She had amazed him, really.

_Was this how teenagers acted?_

And Nanaki would never forget what she had told him once when he was given the chance to become chief of his tribe. Accepting would have required him to settle down indefinitely and accept his inherited responsibility. But the ninja-girl showed up out of nowhere him, trying to convince him to "ditch that and come see the world with me."

He was reluctant. At first. Dismissive, even.

The she huffed, stomped her feet, and said, "Cat, you live till you're a thousand years old! Me? I only got fifty on me to travel if I'm lucky. You can be as boring as you want once I'm dead and buried."

And Nanaki realized that she was (surprisingly) right.

He had all the time in the world to be by himself—more than enough time; that this was his only chance to really be a child—while his friends were still here to enjoy it with him.

_The curse of a long lifespan is that you have a tendency to outlive those you love…_

So now, if you wanted to find Nanaki, the feline was usually by Yuffie's side; unless, of course, if the tribe had really needed him or when he became frustrated (albeit temporarily) with his traveling partner's antics.

But it was more than worth it. After all, they only had so many years together…

* * *

"I'm going to see Red next," Yuffie declared.

"Oh?"

Tifa pulled herself up onto the couch that was next to the fireplace and cozy-up'ed to the pillows there.

Resting on the couch was the Cait Sith toy that Reeves controlled---the same one that was her companion on their journey. When Sephiroth was defeated and all was revealed, Tifa had asked if she could keep it (she had always been the sentimental sort). So now, here it was—a permanent fixture at Tifa's.

She placed the cat-toy tenderly on her lap, and played with its fur; occasionally it would come to life—Reeves' way of visiting—but for now it sat inanimate like any other the stuff animal in world.

Yuffie studies Tifa carefully, noting how everything about Tifa languished; there was this distinctive melancholy that surrounded her no matter where she was; as if Cloud was always present. Poison in her veins…

And Yuffie can't help what she says next: "That stupid Cloud should treat you better. You're practically his wife."

Tifa looks up, not quite sure how to respond. It hadn't been the first time this was bought up, but it never got any easier for her to respond. "He treats me fine. And besides, I'm not his wife."

"Right," said Yuffie, rolling her eyes, "You guys only have a family together. So okay, you're his wife in name—I'll give you that. But you're basically his wife in practice."

"I'm not his wife."

"You should be."

Tifa looks down. There wasn't an easy way to make Yuffie understand the complexity of this situation. She had never been in love; allowed herself to love someone more than she could ever love herself. To love so completely…

Moreover, Yuffie didn't know Cloud the way Tifa knew him. Marriage would've been feasible with any other person, but with Cloud? Could he ever bring himself around to it?

Probably not…

_Most likely not._

"It doesn't matter," Tifa tells her.

Perhaps it's the wine—she feels bold; like there's nothing to hide; least of all from Yuffie. Tifa's eyes glazed over as she stared into the fire, seeing something beyond that. "What people say---it doesn't matter. And I know what it must seem like, but I don't care what they think of me. I just…"

Yuffie bites her bottom lip, feeling the hurt coming from Tifa with this confession; and she suddenly doesn't want to become privy to what Tifa has to say. Still, she hears, she listens; because she's there…

_Please don't say it, Tifa._

"In the end, I just want to stay with him."

And Yuffie has to turn away, knowing there was no helping Tifa; though she can't say she didn't try.

Tifa catches this and wonders, _am I that pitful? _

She doesn't blame Yuffie.

There were just some facts that Tifa had accepted long ago. This was one of them.

Tifa finished her glass of wine and placed it on the table besides her. "Well, I'm going to bed," she declared. "You need anything else?"

"No, I'm fine."

"All right then," said Tifa, getting up and putting Cait Sith gently back to rest on one of the pillows—as if the stuff thing was truly alive. "Just remember to put the fire out before you go to sleep."

"Uh huh."

"Good night, Yuffie."

"Nite, Tif."

Yuffie's smile faded as she watched Tifa disappear upstairs. She let out a dissatisfied sigh, cupping her hands in her chin. She stared into the blank eyes of the Cait Sith toy as if seeking its consultation; thinking hard…

_Fine, _she decides, _I'll let Cloud go this time. But if he's not back in a month, well…Tifa, don't go blaming me for being unreasonable._


	4. Chapter 4

**The Strings Attached**

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VII  
**Characters:** Tifa, Cloud  
**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer: **Property of Squaresoft. No money is being made off this.

**Chapter 4**

Reeves flipped open a big book—a really, really large book. It was sad how commonplace these books became in committee meetings such as the one he presided over now. No one even blinked an eye.

And Reeves wanted to yawn sometimes; then take a really long and extended catnap. But there was an entire world waiting to be rebuilt, and---hell---someone has to do it.

_Luckily, _Reeves thinks, _I don't have to do it alone._

At this thought, he glanced over to the right of him where Vincent sat, complacent, drafting notes dutifully. Then there was Barrett and Cloud, who were absent at this particular meeting, but were there in Neo-Midgar with him---ready to be his left and right hand in molding this world.

And Reeves goes back to briefing the suit-and-ties who sit there; their eyes focused on him—the speaker at the head of the conference table. _Just another normal day…_

"Wait, you can't go in there!"

"Fuck you and step the fuck out of my fucken way, shit!"

Reeves stops mid-sentence at this and squints at the closed door. _Cid?_

As if on cue, the twin doors burst open, revealing Cid Highwind himself, hard-face and purposeful, followed by a skinny secretarial guy, who looked intimidated out of his wits—like he was about to ready to pee in his pants. But you got to give the guy bravery points for even _trying _to restrain Cid Highwind.

"Cid, what---what—what are you doing here?" Reeves got up to go greet his friends, happy to see him but still anxious; Cid didn't look like he was here just to chat.

"Fuck it, Reeves. I'll get right to the point. Where in goddamn hell is that stupid-ass punk?"

Reeves blinked back the confusion and surprise. _Who on earth…_

"Punk? Cid, who are you referring-- who are you trying to find?" Reeves asked, genuinely wanting to help.

"Who? Fuck, don't play dumb Reeves. You're too smart for that," Cid spat out, caustic even when he's trying to be civil.

Reeves looked to Vincent for help. The other man just shrugged; he didn't know either.

Cid sighed. Everyone was so goddamn hopeless. Finally he just came out with it: "Cloud! Cloud! That's who the fuck I'm talking about. Now where is he?"

* * *

The bunkers were cramped and dark quarters with bunk-beds attached to the walls. These rooms were very reminiscent of jailhouses; only, instead of bars, you luckily had a door that allowed freedom in access both in and out.

However uncomfortable they were, they provided decent (and cheap) temporary housing for the workers of Neo-Midgar. And Cloud was grateful that there was even a bed to begin with.

He had been working for hours now; long enough for other people to whisper to each other in low, paranoid voices: _he isn't human._

But even Cloud needed time to recharge; he had been working all night on the pipelines, hauling tons and tons of steel loads and copper wiring. It was mid-day, but Cloud had felt that feeling—ready to collapse—and he had excused himself and hurried here. Now alone, Cloud dropped himself down onto the bed and closed his eyes…

Again, grateful for this small comfort.

His breathing slowly leveling out; indicating that, now at last, he was at rest.

And he had only had drifted out of consciousness for a few minutes when…

The door slammed open, letting in harsh sunlight that flooded the room causing Cloud wince and slowly open his eyes. But before he could even see what was happening, someone had already had him by the collar of his shirt---dragging and cursing as that person then hauled Cloud up and threw him clean outside the door.

Cloud landed smashed down on his face, rolling till he came to rest on his back somehow; the whole suddenness of the attack had him so bewildered and off guard that Cloud wasn't able to respond quickly enough. His head was spinning.

"Cloud! Are you okay?"

Cloud could hear Reeves's voice approaching from behind.

"What's going on?" Cloud managed to ask, weakly.

"What's going on? I'll tell you what's going on…"

Cloud could see his attacker clearly now: Cid standing over him. The other man chucked down his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, finishing: "I'm fucken kicking your ass, kid!"

He heard from Reeves: "Cid, don't!"

By now, the commotion Cid was causing had gathered an audience. They swarm around Cloud and Cid, forming an impromptu boxing ring of sorts; rowdy and looking for blood—they could sense it. Cid ignored them and addressed Cloud, saying, "I ain't never beat the shit out of a guy lying down. So get up! On your feet, motherfucker."

Cloud just sat there. He was infuriatingly stubborn and unresponsive. He didn't even bother to ask Cid why the beating; as if saying, whatever it was, he probably deserved it…

And Cid…

Well, Cid had waited damn hell long enough for a response. "Argh!" With that Cid started to kicking the other man. One, BAM, two, BAM…

Dust and dirt in Cloud's face and Cloud can't help but cry out in pain.

And sure, Cloud was, for the most part, impassive---it wasn't anything that he did purposefully; it was just a survival mechanism. But, as impassive as Cloud was, when someone was attacking him, he knew well enough to fight back; like he did now…

Cloud deflected Cid's kick and lunged at the other man.

And without his sword, Cloud fought the only way he knew how: with hands and fist.

"Fight, fight, fight!!!" Around them, the crowd was goading them on. Chanting; mob mentality taking over all order.

Reeves watched this development crestfallen: his friends beating the bloody hell out of each other, and the citizens he was attempting to forge based on peace and laws, all crumbling to pieces at this one demonstration. The crowd was pushing against his back…

And Reeves wanted to help, but the viciousness of the two men at the center of it all, deflected all desire of having that seem plausible.

And it was vicious; rough and dirty like bar fights that Cloud had never experienced firsthand the way Cid had; Cid clearly had the advantage, and was now pummeling Cloud like there was no tomorrow, driven on by adrenaline and by the crowd's insistence.

"What the hell!" Barrett busted through the thickness of the crowd, shoveling people left and right to reach the center. When there, he lunged right between the two men and shoved them apart, using all his strength to restrain them from killing each other. He pushed Cloud onto the ground while shoving Cid out of the way.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"You stay the fuck out of this, Barrett!" Cid pointed a finger threateningly at Barrett.

"Fuck you," Barrett wasn't intimidated by the Highwind pilot. He was just as hard-assed.

Behind Barrett, Cloud spat out blood (he had bitten his tongue slightly in the whole exchange) and glared at Cid. "He started it! He just started attacking me out of nowhere."

"Cid?!"

"Hell, I'm his senior. I got the rights to discipline him for being a dumbass."

And anyone looking at Cid could recognize the self-righteousness driving his action; it was written all over his countenance.

"Discipline him for what?"

"For what?! Fucken what?! Ask the boy. Go ahead, ask his sorry ass. Better yet, ask Tifa. Ask her why she's still with his sorry ass," Cid huffed.

"Tifa?" Cloud exclaimed, surprised. _This was about Tifa?_

"What about Tifa?" Barrett asked, now just as concerned.

"Cloud, how many times have you called home since you've been here? By home, I mean her."

At Cid's question, Barrett turned to glare at Cloud; also, demanding an answer.

With all eyes on him, and no way to avoid this question, Cloud was suddenly forced to face the truth. And he couldn't really say; not that he didn't know the answer; but that he was too ashamed and angry with himself—he was at fault. Cid was right.

"That's right, don't fucken say anything. You wanna know why he's as quiet as shit?" Cid asked rhetorically. "That's because in five months there hasn't been one freaken phone call. Isn't that right? Five long-ass, fucken months." Cid let go a string of curse-words all mashed into each other.

Now, Barrett was angry. He turned to Cloud, asking, "Cloud, is that true?"

Cloud's silence was all the confirmation he needed. _Goddamn!_

"Yeah? You see? You think I was wrong in doing this?" Cid asked Barrett. And honestly, the other man couldn't answer otherwise. He was just as mad himself.

Cid pressed on, "I got no problem with you being dys-motherfucking-unfuctional, all right? But I do have a problem with a man who's unable to take care of his woman. Especially if that woman's my lady friend. And more especially if that dumbass man is also my friend."

_God, _Cid hated _pansy_-men.

And Cloud sat there, letting Cid's words sink in and bite deep. Because it was true. Because he deserved every hateful look. Every hateful glare.

Cid continued, exasperated. "Hell, I can take care of my woman. It ain't that hard. So why the fuck can't you take care of yours?"

Cloud can't answer. He doesn't know why.

And he doesn't know what good staying here would do---sitting dejectedly on the dirt floor of Neo-Midgar. Instead, he slowly gets up---his body aching all over, but he does; gritting his teeth and breathing hard. Because he doesn't blame anyone else for this…

Cid and Barrett watch as Cloud, head down and silent, walked away from them and through the crowd, which parted like the Red Sea to allow his passage.

* * *

At that moment, Yuffie comes through in time to catch Cloud exiting the crowd; and she's stunned by the way he looks. So much so that she has to cover her mouth in a gasp.

He doesn't look at her standing there paralyzed and in shock; he just goes by her, transient like a ghost…

Yuffie, finally recovering, gritted her own teeth and growled. She snapped her head to look at Cid, and then ran over to him. "You!" she said, pointing a finger, "You! What did you do?!"

"What?" Cid asked nonchalant. "Don't look all surprised. You were the one who told me about the situation and said 'go beat him up.'"

"I know what I said!" Yuffie lamented, _Gawd, this was infuriatin'! Doesn''t this guy know moderation? _"I didn't mean _that_ badly! If Tifa ever finds out, she's going to kill me!"

"Don't worry about it," Cid said, lighting up a cigarette---something to cool of the adrenaline. "The kid will live. Sides' I didn't say anything about you. So your skinny ass is safe."

With that, Cid takes a long drag of his cigarette; he hadn't been involved in a fight like that in a while. There was something strangely comforting in the fact that he was still able to kick ass.

He looks to Barrett, who's clenching his fist by his side---disappointment, Cid guessed. Barrett greets Cid with a nod of understanding; the two men were about the same age---two different backgrounds completely, sure. But they understood each other. Truth be told, had Barrett found out in Cid's stead (although not as intense) a beat down would've still been involved. _Fist talks._

Cid tells him, "Shit, Barrett. Love to stay and chat, but I gotta head home now. Or, fuck me, wife's going to make me walk Junior."

Junior being Cid and Shera's dog---she had gotten that thing as a wedding present, even though Cid hated the hell out of it, he knew that she'd love enough that he got it for her (puppy and not-toilet trained and everything). No children yet. Though with Cid's luck, he'd probably get a girl now that Shera's knocked up.

"Give my regards to the misses," Barrett answered.

"Will do."

Cid turned his attention to Reeves, who stood by, trying to hide the storm of emotions raging in him at the moment; and for the first time that day, Cid gets a little embarrassed. "Uh, sorry about earlier, yeah," he tries hard not to curse when he pats the other man on the shoulder and tells him, "Bout' interrupting your meeting and all that."

"That's okay," Reeves reassures him. No harm done. At least not any harm he feels is Cid's fault.

* * *

_Just outside Neo-Midgar…_

Fenrir sits waiting. No rider for five months since. It's been gathering dust. Cloud walks up to it, and seats himself.

Now, staring ahead of him, there was just an expanse of plain. Nothing but himself.

And Cloud looks back, up...

To the city on the hill (Neo-Midgar was really turning out to be something).

One last look. Then Cloud starts his motorcycle, adjusts his googles—that keep the dust out of his eye, and kicks the stand.

The bike revs before the back wheel goes WWHHHIRRRR and with a slight twist, Fenrir speeds away.

* * *

On the opposite end of the hill, Reeves is looking down from one of the newly constructed spires of Neo-Midgar. He's looking down on this city---his city. It feels like that somehow.

The lights twinkle off in the distance; though barely a skeletal structure as of now, the city that was once only a dream was starting to take shape. And to Reeves, the vision of the city acquiring substance before him was heartbreakingly beautiful.

Yet, now, he looked down on it, his heart filled with an odd regret.

"I'm to blame, aren't I?" he asked his friend…

Vincent had just entered, quiet as ever in the shadows. But Reeves was alert and aware of his friend's presence.

Vincent doesn't answer, so Reeves goes on, "I get so caught up in my desire to see this thing through to the end that I forget---only seeing the big picture." Reeves snickered, disdainfully. "A holdover from my ShinRa days I suppose."

Vincent comes to stand next to Reeves, taking in the view as well: _it was truly a thing to marvel at._

Reeves continued, "I forget the small, important details. Cloud and Tifa…"

"What happens between Cloud and Tifa is their business," Vincent finally spoke, causing the other man to be taken aback.

"What do you mean?"

Vincent shakes his head. "It can't be helped. If Cloud wants to run away, he'd find a reason. Whether or not you were involved—it makes no difference."

"How---how do you know?"

Vincent turned to look at Reeves directly. A man of little words; but when he spoke, he only spoke of the truth—both intangible and tangible. He said, "I know, because I once ran."

_Same as him._

"Vincent…"

How could Reeves forget? How could anyone forget?

And even now, Vincent can feel her warmth---Lucrecia's love---besides him. He had spent years asleep; running, always running…

But now…

"How did you stop? Running, I mean…" Reeves asked.

Vincent sighs—not of regret, not of sorrow—but of a man who's lived many lifetimes, but still only knows this much: "I lived."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Strings Attached**

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VII  
**Characters:** Tifa, Cloud  
**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer: **Property of Squaresoft. No money is being made off this.

**Chapter 5**

Tifa shuffled through the supermarket with Denzel by her side and a long list of 'things to get' in her hands. They had already been through the fruit and vegetable section and she allowed him to pick out sweets: "Remember, Denzel, one item only. I don't want you guys getting cavities."

He had ran back with five instead, saying, "This is for Sarah and Marlene. Promise!"

She shook her head; but allowed a compromise, since he was being so helpful. _Two, instead. _

She was always such a softie.

Tifa checked that off the list and remarked, "Almost done. Just one more thing."

Denzel followed after her obediently, although his footsteps did slow down a bit when they arrived at the 'feminine hygiene' aisle.

"Uh, Tifa?"

"Hmm?"

"Nothing…"

But when she looked back, she could tell that he was uncomfortable. It made her laugh inside, seeing that look on his face now: _so much like Cloud's…_

Tifa thinks back to when they had gone on these shopping excursions together; he had been reluctant to follow her into this aisle; although he did go. That was one of the few times Tifa remembers seeing Cloud blush.

She picks out the brand she always gets; and as her hand touches the box, an idea (so deliciously evil) suddenly crossing her mind. Her eyes narrow as she glances between the box and Denzel, standing off to the side, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. Then, out of nowhere, Tifa grabs and chucks the box at the poor boy, exclaiming, "Denzel, catch!"

"Wah!" The boy reacts; his eyes wide open in panic, as he heeds her command; opening his hands to catch the box. When he does, he panics even further—realizing what he was holding in his hands and immediately drops it, groaning. "Augghhh…"

Tifa laughs.

Moments like this make everything worth it.

"Relax," she tells him, in between fits of laughter, "These are just tampons, see?" She picks it up and holds it to his face, but he just cringes. "This isn't toxic, Denzel."

"Ugh, Tifa. Grow up," he pushes her aside, half-playful, half-annoyed, but very embarrassed.

She relents, dropping the box into the cart. "Okay, okay. I won't tease you about it any more. Don't be upset."

Denzel waves her off, "Whatever." He sighs, supposing there was something sweet about having a woman as nice as Tifa be around him, even if she was waving a box of tampons in front of him (he was a boy, after all).

Just then, Denzel notices something out of place. More like feels something…senses…

And he turns his head slightly to see two big, butch-y men stare at them---more precisely, at Tifa; their eyes lecherous in their regard of her.

And suddenly Denzel feels sick to the pit of his stomach. He runs back to his guardian, tugging on her arm, while she checks out other feminine products. His tug is urgent.

"Hmm…" she looks at him, "What is it?"

"Tifa," he leans in close, whispering—his eyes worried, "There are two guys over there. And they're staring at you."

Tifa's eyes shoot up, immediately alert and in the direction Denzel is indicating. Sure enough, there they were by the condom section of the market _(why did they have to put it right by the feminine aisle?)_. They catch her look and send back smug, lascivious grin.

_Trouble_, that smile says.

Tifa had to act quick and as efficiently as possible to minimize the potential damage here. "Come on," she tells Denzel, walking back to the cart. "Don't look at them."

And she tries to hurry out of the isle with the boy when suddenly, one of the two men come to block her path. "Hey," he says, "where are you going, sweetheart? What's the rush?"

Tifa is unfazed. Instead she reels the cart and tries to exit the opposite direction. And just as she reaches the end of the isle, the other thuggish guy comes out—now effectively blocking all routes of escape.

Tifa's eyes narrow as she looks between the two men.

"Come on, baby," they tell her, "Don't play hard to get. A woman as fine as you, shouldn't have to play hard to get."

_Fine…_

They were referring to her curves again. Her so called "assets." And Tifa has to sigh, thinking, she never asked for this body. The fact that it drew unwanted attention was something she dealt with ever since she was fourteen and the first horny boys made a pass at her.

_They licked their lips at her…as if wanting to taste her…_

And what good were these "assets," if it didn't draw the attention the one place she wanted to…

_They were closing in…_

"Denzel, take a hold of the cart. When I say, push. Go to the checkout. Wait for me there," she tells him.

And the men could sense that she was going to put up a fight. They laugh, not intimidated by this woman who was a head shorter than them. "Oh ho, what's this? Tough girl. Ohhh," they tease.

One of them asked, "Are you going to hurt me now?"

"Come on, baby. Just one kiss."

And they're close enough for Tifa to feel their hot, stale breath.

"Now, Denzel, GO!"

And she swings around, slugging one of them in the stomach—the impact, knocking the wind out of him.

The other guy is in shock. Tifa had been so quick.

"Now!" she shouts, reminding Denzel to move.

The boy recovers from his stunned stare and nods, "Right." He rushes to the cart and pushes it in the now clear opening in the aisle.

"Why you!" The other guy swings to hurt. But Tifa dodges easily---he must've not recognized her as one of the heroes of the Planet; otherwise he wouldn't have been so foolhardy to underestimate her. Now he was going to pay…

Tifa strikes a brutal move—two fingers, the pointing and middle, of one hand go to shove against his windpipe, pressing hard; he gags, before passing out.

The guy on the ground, placed there by Tifa's solid punch sees his partner go down, and—instead of doing the smart thing and turning to flee—he goes to grab her; managing to get her in a bear hug from behind. "Now let's see what you can do about this," he hissed.

"Ugh…" Tifa groaned in disgust as she could feel his entire body pressed up against hers. The stubble parts of his unshaven face rubbing against the skin of her neck, as he takes a generous inhale of her hair. _His erection pressing against her backside…_

BAM!

Tifa jabs her elbow backwards in a merciless blow, causing the man to take a pained gasp, loosing his grip enough for her to swing his elbow around, almost breaking it; and then—changing her mind—she tosses him against a wall on a rotation and then nails him---one foot on his throat as he's pressed against the wall, gasping for breath.

His face goes red and eyeballs roll back in white as he struggles, grasping at her leg—trying to free himself. But Tifa doesn't let up. Instead she tells him, "Get that dirty thought out of your head." Finally, after only a few seconds, she releases him—he drops to the ground, breathing hard and barely conscious.

Tifa examines the aftermath; surprisingly clean (nothing really tossed from the shelves) considering the amount of force she exerted.

Of course, she had drawn a few onlookers with such a commotion; but Tifa ignored them and simply walked out of the aisle—calm as possible.

Denzel--wide-eyed, innocent--stands waiting for her by checkout stand number five. He asks her, "Are you okay?"

She smiles, reassuring. _Nothing to worry about._ "Mmmhmm," she nods.

With that Tifa starts to take their stuff out of the cart and put it on the lane for the cashier. Denzel, meanwhile, can't stop staring in awe at her.

* * *

The ride home is quiet. Both their minds are still preoccupied with what had occurred in the market, though for different reasons.

Denzel's thinking of ways he can tell the kids how he had survived such a dangerous situation and how kick-ass a person Tifa was. _She was really so very cool…_

Tifa, on the other hand, is more pensive. _Why, _she wonders, _why am I thinking about him?_

What was it about this situation that made her think about Cloud? Did she really believe that if he was there he would've protected her? Did she really need protection? After all, she had shown that she was more than able to protect herself.

And yet there was something…

And she knows she misses him.

_Five months and not a word._

"Huh?" She snaps out of it, feeling something unusual---Denzel, staring at her, a smile on his face. She has to smile back. "What is it?"

"Nothing," he shakes his head, goofy grin seeming permanently attached to his face since they left the market.

But she can tell, he meant _everything._ And how he worshipped Tifa, then; settling back into his seat.

* * *

Denzel opens the door, hustling inside with one grocery bag and the keys. Tifa follows after, with three bags on her. The house was empty---the kids outside playing. It was a Saturday after all.

Tifa puts the grocery bags down, letting out a sigh of relief. _Chores done for the day…_

Then she senses it…

Her eyes narrow. Someone…not the kids…someone else had been in here….

She doesn't know how, but she can just tell.

Denzel's about to enter the den, but Tifa stops him—a hand on his shoulder, stilling him.

"What is it, Tifa?" he asked.

"I don't know," she confessed. "Just stay here. Wait for me."

He nods.

And she goes, careful and cautious, among the shadows of her small place—afternoon light making dark shadows in the crevices. And Tifa moves stealth-like. One feet in front of the other at a time—not making a sound. Till she realizes…

There's someone on the couch…

And it's too dark (those shadows) to tell. So she has to get closer, squinting to make out the figure…

"Cloud…" His name escaping from her lips, as she feels her heart drop and the ground open up two feet below her.

He had been lightly resting, his eyes closed when he heard her. His eyes snapping open. "Tifa."

And she doesn't know if she can breathe quite right, but she tries, because…

It had been five months.

He was about to get up, but she's already there, by his side. "Oh Cloud, how did you---when---why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

And part of her wishes that he had, just so she had the time to prepare; but more of her is just glad that he's here.

Then, bending down, she notices---one of his eyes, black and blue. And she reaches, gingerly touching it; not quite believing it's actually there. He winces.

"Oh Cloud. Who did this to you?"

He shakes his head. "Never mind. I'm okay. Really."

"No, you're not. Look at you. It's all swollen," she fusses over it, because it really did look very bad. "Wait here, lemme get so ice. Don't go anywhere!"

"Really, Tifa…"

But she's already gone; gone to get ice from behind the bar---and she fumbles, not able to quite get it fast enough. She manages, wrapping some in a towel and coming back to Cloud, who's still there; obediently waiting.

She kneels next to him.

"Really, Tifa, you don't have to," he tries insisting again. He doesn't want to make her worry.

But it's already done. She's placing the towel gently on over his left eye—remarking, "Cloud, this isn't like you."

He knows what she means…

He should've been strong enough to protect himself. If this had happened, it would've only been because he had let it…

Cloud sees the worry in her eyes, and it worries him. So he does what he can; taking a hold of the hand that's gently pressing the ice pack against his eye, and telling her, firmly. "I'm okay. I'm all right. I promise."

"Cloud…"

And though, they've never spoken about it, it's always been known: that there was nothing platonic when it came to them. All the superficiality had disappeared ages ago; all that was left was the struggle to deal with had remained. Cloud knew. He wasn't _that_ clueless.

And she takes the courage, leaning in now, and resting her forehead gently against his; feeling a fullness return—like life had returned and everything was really going to be 'okay.' And her eye closes, because, now, she felt safe.

* * *

Denzel stood by the doorway near where Tifa and Cloud were sitting now, watching. It wasn't so strange, seeing them that way. All those shy glances he had caught when they were together. He was really mature like that, he thinks.

He nods, deciding to leave them alone; turns around and goes back to put away the groceries. He didn't want the ice creams to melt.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Strings Attached**

**Fandom:** Final Fantasy VII  
**Characters:** Tifa, Cloud  
**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer: **Property of Squaresoft. No money is being made off this.

**Chapter 6**

Time had passed, as time had a tendency of doing.

And Tifa doesn't bring up the Neo-Midgar incident (though they think she should've—she was well in her rights to). Cloud must've known he was wrong, because he never left for that long again (_five months and not a word)_; though he still left…

A week at times.

Sometimes a little more.

But what does it matter? So long as he came back.

And he always does. Returning, just as suddenly and uneventfully (unprovoked) as he had left; coming through the front; sometimes the back door. And for moments at a time, Tifa felt that she was able to live a easier—as if every absence was a momentarily pause she had become used to. Still, it was unpleasant enough.

_Why was that,_ she wonders.

She had never asked him—never forced him to stay. He was well within his own rights to come and leave as he chooses; and yet, why did it bother her?

She feels selfish thinking that. So she pushes it aside, and busies herself; because there were children to be raised, a business to run, work to be finished. And it was enough, if not what she wanted.

* * *

Cloud wanders in a haze.

Insubstantial…like he was just a transient being passing through this life, and people just happen to taken notice—and out of their recognition, had made him real.

He sees it (what he does); knows it hurts her, but he can't help it.

And they were there—the people who occupied his life; like phantasm, less real than the 'ghosts' that followed him. And the lifestream, that airy specter of green light—threads—wove in front of his vision, always present. He can't escape it.

Although…

At long last…

He was able to admit to himself that he was tired; tired of wandering so aimlessly among the mist and vacant fogs.

* * *

Cloud's not sure how it happened. What exactly had woken his attentions…

He walking---yes, walking (he's aware)---with the children.

He had been home that day, and it was afternoon; Tifa had asked him if he could pick up the children from school and he had agreed.

So there he was, walking them through the busy streets of the Edge. They would stop at the lights; Cloud coming about in time to keep the children from running across when the lights were green.

And Marlene was skipping ahead—yes, she was skipping. And she was talking, saying things to him.

And he tries to pay attention; tries to hear her. But he catches only bits and fragments—the sounds of everything—the urban streets, the populace—all distracting him (amplified noises); when she had said…

In a nursery rhyme way…

"April showers bring May flowers, right Cloud?"

He looked at Marlene, his eyes focusing in recognition (all the noises driving away to silence) and he had asked her to repeat what she just said.

She gave him a look, like he was being weird again. Then repeated, "I said _April_ showers bring _May_ flowers, or at least it will once April is over."

April.

That's right. It had been raining.

Why hadn't he notice---the intermediate rainfall? _The cement was still wet…_

He had blinked and another year had passed. Days rolling on end; rolling right into each other, passing so seamlessly…

And his heart suddenly (and inexplicably) aches at this thought.

* * *

"You're still here…"

Not harsh. Not unwanted. Just surprised.

Tifa hadn't expected to see him sitting there by the fireplace. And she stutters, not able to hide that surprise, "I…I…I thought you had a delivery scheduled."

_He was supposed to be gone today, back on Friday…_

"I canceled."

He said simply. No explanation.

And she stands, unsure of why…not that she minds, but…

She knows him well enough to know that there had to be a reason. Cloud never acts without purpose; but he doesn't say—still staring into the fireplace; and she doesn't press him for why.

* * *

Dawn.

No, earlier, he thinks. But he didn't sleep for it to make a difference whether the night had passed or not.

April. _Spring again._

And his mind is going through all the possibilities; all the chances he had let missed; all the consequences. He couldn't sleep---not with that weight on his heart; that unspoken, but constant weight between _them…_

He looked over to see Tifa on her side of room; on her separate twin bed. She was resting, eyes shut; and he could see the steady rise and fall of her chest, hear the sound of her soft inhale and exhale. _Inhale and exhale._

And that _weight_—the tension in that space between them---had grown more pressing; more urgent; at least, in his judgment (though she never lets on).

Cloud sits up in his bed, and for a long time, he just watches her…

_Inhale and exhale…that steady rise and fall. Rise and fall..._

She's serene; and he thinks he can watch her forever like this—taking note of the contour of her face, the curvature her body; as if trying etch her (if she wasn't already etched) forever in his mind—forever in safe keeping.

_How many times has he watched her like this?_

And Cloud gets up; light soundless footsteps to her bedside, looking over her. And he thinks for a moment, that he could reach out and touch…

His hand moving out on its own accord…

Fingertips nearing her skin; only centimeters from…

But he stops (like he had so many times before), pulls back.

His head turns away, looks at the ground. When would he have to face this?

Cloud walks away—to his closet. He would get dressed. Go out the backdoor. Walk along the empty streets (the closed storefronts), and go to see her. She was waiting…

And he had kept himself up long enough.

* * *

Cloud sealed off the entranced and exits of the church; barring the door with heavy wooden beams. Though he doubted anyone would come seek communion here so early in the morning, he didn't want to be interrupted—not when he was seeking communion here, himself.

What would _she_ have thought? Had she lived, how would _she_ have seen this? All these believers who flock through here now (post-meteor and Sephiroth—they were all believers). And it's ironic, Cloud thinks, how Sephiroth had sought out godhood, and yet, _she _had been the one deified.

Aerith would have probably laughed and dismissed it.

And as Cloud walked towards the center of the church—where the plot of flowers grew—he could feel the presence of the lifestream (_her_ presence) stronger and stronger now, emanating from that epicenter; as if the lifestream had focused on this one point; and he opened his heart, his soul, letting it fill him as he goes to stand where she once stood (tending her flowers).

"Aerith," he tells her, looking at the flowers; their white petals, still dewy from the morning's condensation.

_There was so much love…_

"I can't…I don't suppose I can go on being selfish anymore, huh?"

_Like he was the only one capable of suffering…_

"I came here to let you know…"

He chokes on his words; they're thick and difficult to swallow; but he presses and he tries, because of _her_—she was waiting for him back in their house.

"I want to be good to Tifa," at long last—he's able to say it. "I have to be good to Tifa."

_I need to be good to her…_

He had always known. Since the events of Kadaj, Cloud had tried (he had seen Aerith say it was okay) to accept the facts—all those glaring truths--about his relationship with Tifa. And he had wanted to, but those lingering feelings—like open wounds--wouldn't vanish or heal so easily; he could never say goodbye.

Cloud feels it before he's even aware of it: the tears that had collected on their own, running down to drip freely from his jawline---the only outward indication of the world inside. Finally, Cloud shuts his eye, squeezes tight, brows creasing in the middle. Teeth held together. And he allows himself to breakdown; if only a little.

When suddenly, he hears it…

And just like that, Cloud's alert, drawn out his sword and eyes scanning the premises: the wooden benches, the dark corners hidden from the sunlight…

Tears already ceasing.

_He had heard an shuffling noise._

"Who's there?!"

As if answering, a flame atop a long orange tail peeked up from behind one of the benches—not too far away.

"Nanaki?"

The feline emerged, shaking his head and somewhat embarrassed at having been caught; apologizing, "I'm sorry, Cloud. I didn't mean to listen in. You had barricaded the doors before I could get out and…and…"

Nanaki lowered his head, sighing—perhaps he could've avoided this if he had been more careful. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"I see…"

Cloud nods. There were no hard feelings. This was his friend, after all.

Still, he asked, "What are you doing here?" _So early in the morning…_

Nanaki, sensing that Cloud didn't perceive a wrongdoing, felt the ease to approach. "I came to see the flower girl on her birthday."

And Cloud can't hide his surprise. "You...you know?"

"Yes. She had told me."

_So…_, Cloud suddenly remembers that he wasn't the only one missing _her_; that she had known and loved so many (Nanaki nuzzling her cheeks—his wet snot tickling her). But he forgets, being so carried away—for so long---in his own grief.

_Birthdate…_

Cloud knew why today—of all days—felt like the right day. It really was time.

* * *

"Pancakes!"

Tifa frowned, asking, "Pancakes? You want pancakes…for lunch?"

And Yuffie just nodded, fervently and purred, "MmmmHMMM."

The younger girl (although she was really old enough to be considered a woman now), simply spun on her stool, kicked her feet and said, "Come ONNNN! Tifa. Don't be boring—that's so conventional."

Although Tifa wasn't too sure _conventional_ was why she didn't want to make pancakes. She had already made tons yesterday, and Yuffie (doesn't she ever leave?) had only chucked down half before getting distracted and wandering off. Tifa had forced herself and the kids to finish the rest, and she was pretty sure--by the time they had finished--that none of _them _wanted to eat pancakes. At least, not for a really, _really, _long time.

"No pancakes, Yuffie," she tells her, firm. "I've already have plans for lunch."

"Aw…lame."

Yuffie puffed out her lips and pouted. She _guessed_--rolling her eyes--that she would just _have_ to eat what was offered.

Just then, the door opened and in walked Cloud followed by…

"RED!!!"

Tifa winces from how loudly Yuffie announced Nanaki's arrival—but Yuffie couldn't contain herself (her happiness or her volume). She leapt off her stool and practically stampeded over to where her traveling partner waited—spine arched, and reeled slightly back…ready to pounce.

And Yuffie growled. Nanaki growled. None of them were helping.

Then he pounced, knocking her to the ground; the two of them went tumbling to smash up against the one of the kitchen's cabinet.

"You guys!" Tifa exclaimed; she could see it now: her entire kitchen smashed and tossed to pieces because of one impromptu play-wrestling match.

"Uh…"

Cloud thinks he should try to stop it; he even holds out his hand---unsure of what to do with it, because…because…

Well, would _you_ really want to get in the middle of _that_?

"You GUYS!" Tifa admonishes, her nerves drawn on end. Then, seeing as it's not stopping anytime soon: "That's it!" And she goes to them, eyes narrowing…

Yuffie doesn't see Tifa approach—she's too busy gnawing on Nanaki's ear; and Nanaki doesn't see Tifa approach, being too busy, himself---shoving Yuffie against the cabinet with his head. That's when it happened.

Yelp! "Ow, ow, ow…OW!"

Tifa had Yuffie by the ear with one hand and Nanaki by the tail in the other. Tugging hard and effectively putting an end to their 'sparring'.

"I know you two are happy to see each other," she said as she dragged them towards the living room (still pinching ear and pulling tail). "But take it outside."

Once at the doorway, she finally—and mercifully--lets them go, telling them, "There's food in here and you're going to ruin it."

Yuffie had, at the moment Tifa let go, sounded in relief; rubbing her ear and making faces—grimaces, really (five different variations of it, if that's possible). "Ow, Tifa, didya have to go pull that hard? Thought I lost my ear there."

Tifa just shook her head. _Children._

Yuffie huffed. "Fine. Come on then, Red."

Red looked up (he had been licking his tail) when she told him, "Let's go play outside." He nods. And they off they go, Yuffie with her head turned up in a huff and Nanaki following.

* * *

Tifa's relieved to see them go; although she's not really angry with them.

_Who can really stay angry at them?_

And she even finds herself chuckling, before turning her head to find Cloud, looking at her. He doesn't look away; although he does blink—a small kind of acknowledgment that she's catches him. And she forgets that he does that sometimes---just looks at her when he thinks she's not watching.

And she momentarily flusters; it was so easy for him to have that effect.

"Those two," she said, remarking, to change the topic—trying to gain some footing with Cloud. "When do you think they'll ever grow up?"

"Hmm…"

And just like that, the craziness of the previous moment completely vanishes. Cloud's pensive again. She wishes he would say more.

He goes to stand a ways from her the counter when she returns to the kitchen. And he wonders—his hand idly handling the washed glasses hooked the kitchen rack---he wonders how he should tell her; about his decision. There was so much to say…

She starts working, chopping and preparing food; and after a while, she ventures to ask (because they had been silent for so long): "How was it?"

"Good," he answers.

Of course, he thinks, she knows where he's been.

Where else?

And he's not too good with words, so he reiterates, "Good."

"That's good."

Turns out, they're both not good with words.

* * *

He stayed in the kitchen the entire time, just watching as she shuffles about—trying to look busier than she was. It's easier to be busy. Less time to think. Less time to worry.

And he sees her working hard; but he's reluctant to move.

Change isn't easy. Not for someone like Cloud. Change was usually something that's tossed onto him; turbulent and unwanted. There were too many unknown variables here. Maybe that's why he hesitates…

Wonders if whether what he'll say will do them any good.

_There's so much love here._

"And I told her. No, Yuffie, you can't eat that. It's been sitting out there," she's been rambling; because noise also cancels out thought.

Cloud looks around the space of the kitchen. Sees the tiled countertops, the shine that reflects of the tea kettle, the cups with the children's name marked on them…

And he wants to be there; to take it in—_the spot that Tifa missed while she's wiping the counter._ Not as a specter; because after all this time, he realized that he still hadn't vanished.

Tifa goes by him to get something from the kitchen---_carrots or something_; he can't remember. But he does remember reaching out—purposefully reaching out—to grab a hold of her arm; stopping her and surprising her enough to have her turn around and say, "Cloud?"

He's closed the distance between them. _She doesn't understand._ And reaches around to hold her; and Tifa finds herself leaning against him, head on the crook of his shoulder, while she's staring at the ground—two feet under opening up.

"Cloud…"

"Tifa," he says, burying his face, brushing against the strands of her hair—her name escaping, likened to a prayer long withheld.

_We have no time left._

"I want to be good to you."

And that's all he has to say.

Minute upon minute, hours upon hours, and years upon years---all crashing into each other.

And Tifa can't bit back the tears; she's sobbing softly now against that crook on his shoulder.

And Cloud just holds her. His heart filled with understanding; hoping that now, there'll be room enough in it (besides all the grief and the doubts), to let her in.

***

Notes:

I must've been running on a dry spell towards the end of the weekend, having embarked on an epic (and some would say crazy) writing marathon. And it irked me that this chapter didn't come out right the first time around. Cloud was very vague, and it was important for me to establish firm roots for him; because in a romance, there are two parts to the equation. I had to go back to rewrite this chapter. And I've really fallen in love with _this _Cloud. He's much more authentic and truthful to the way I perceive the canonical character.

I want to take this space to thank the readers who have been following this story. Please do leave a review. I enjoy reading and discussing any comments or criticism (it'll help me sharpen my skills). I'll definitely respond to the reviews individually. Notes are kept to a minimum to not distract from the story.


	7. Final Thoughts

**Author's Notes:**

If you've taken the time to read this story, then this parts for you—

THANK YOU!!!

And if you've taken the time to review then—

THANK YOU EVEN MORE!!!

Writing _The Strings Attached_ was a really enjoyable experience and I love how it turned out. And though I thought that there would be more to add, upon review, I realized that the story has run its natural course to--what I hope is a satisfying--conclusion.

PoonCHOCO had pointed out that what I've begun to realize: I started out intending to do a really dark and obsessive fic, but ended up doing something that was a mix of soul-searching, light, and fluffiness; which isn't bad, but it wasn't what I had intended. I had wanted the type of rip-your-heart-out torture; the bloody, bleeding and dirty underbelly of the FF7 characters---there's such potential there. But the characters just grew from what I had started with, and obtained an unwieldy life of their own. It was in their nature to be light and fluffy; and I realized, that once you plant the seeds, you can really only sit back and watch it grow. Either way, I'm happy with the way it turned out. And I hope you enjoy watching the characters run me in circles, lol.

**I will end **_**The Strings Attached**_** here**, and maybe come back to put an epilogue or continuation depending on suggestions or my own muse. Right now, though, I'm going to start on an alternative universe to _The Strings Attached, _which will definitely come with explicit sexuality and disturbing/brutal imagery (fun, yah?). Be forewarned.

Seeing as how I've got nothing left to say, I want to make this request: PLEASE DO LEAVE A REVIEW. I know there are writers who say 'I write for myself,' and maybe they do, but I'm not one of them---I write for an audience. Without feedback, I wither.

My only request is that in your review please address:

1) Grammar--I struggle with this one the most, since English isn't my first language. One glaring trouble area is punctuation (excessive use of semicolons, commas, etc.)

2) Spelling--Most are typos

3) Character development---General opinions, which was your favorite and why, etc. Which characters didn't work for you? Why?

4) Hit me up for discussion of FF7, I'm a fan and will gush about it at every opportunity.

Thanks again! Till the next time…

*sits back and waits for the FLOOD of reviews* Yes, I'm hopeful. ;B


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